


For The Ones We Love

by holmesology, hoorayforgatiss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caught in the Act, Coming Out, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mild Language, Teenage!lock, Tension, teen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesology/pseuds/holmesology, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoorayforgatiss/pseuds/hoorayforgatiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are young and frivolous. What they get up to probably isn't within either of their parent's realm of okay behavior at only ages thirteen and fifteen; however, Sherlock Holmes does as he pleases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sherlock, dear, please put your sets away; we are expecting company any time now!” Mum said. She always had a reason for me to stop ‘experimenting’ (not playing, mum), be it outside or inside the manor.

“Yes, Mum. When are your insufferable guests arriving?” I said with a sneer. I always hated her guests. Rarely, she brought someone that wasn't boring or a dimwit. She glared over at me and jerked her head towards the staircase, signaling for me to go adorn proper clothing for tonight’s guests.

“Wear just your fine trousers and a pressed shirt, love. This isn’t a formal occasion. I’m just having an old childhood friend over. She is the lady that has a son about your age and a daughter about Mycroft’s! You've met before, Sherlock, several times! Maybe you and your brother might actually try to make some friends.” She meant that in the nicest way possible, but it still stung to hear it come out of my mother’s mouth.

I made my way up the white marble staircase and into my bedroom. When I turned to shut the door, there was a brown leather-clad foot preventing the door from closing.

“Mycroft, what do you want?” I squinted my eyes and jutted my jaw out.

“Oh, you know, brother dear. I just wanted to check in and make sure you didn’t destroy your polo shirt with your newest disaster you’ve been cultivating in the kitchen.” He smirked and then removed his foot. “In actuality, I wanted to know what you were wearing so I didn’t wear something similar; you know what happened last time that happened.”

“Oh, yes. Mother was keen on reminding us on how alike we are. Horrible deduction she made.” We both chuckled and then I explained my choice of outfit to Mycroft. “I plan on wearing my dark trousers and a pressed white button-up.”

“It’s settled then;” Mycroft sighed, “I’ll wear my button-up and sweater vest with khakis.” Mycroft nodded and scattered down the step to seek refuge with Mum.

I returned to gathering my clothing from the closet and noticed that my hair hadn’t been cut in such a long time that tendrils were falling into my eyes. I shuddered at the thought of a mop head, so after I had gathered all of my clothes and gotten dressed, I made my way to Mother and Father’s room so I could find some shears. I’m not a hairdresser, but I had decided that my partial knowledge and recorded data from previous trips to a hair parlor would do me well enough to get a trim.

I snipped at the curls that flopped about my forehead and returned the scissors to their rightful place when I noticed the problem; the rest of my hair was uneven. I returned to cutting the rest of my hair to match when I sneezed (cursed things, allergies; even worse, the fact that I suffered through them) and promptly removed a large chunk of hair. It, however, wasn’t a bald spot on my skull, but rather an eight blade on some men’s clippers. I would have to resort to a certain someone for help.

“Father!” I cried for my father’s assistance in the matter of giving myself a major and unexpected haircut. The look of restrained laughter on his face when he had stepped into the toilet was absolutely priceless; Sherlock Holmes, thirteen year old, with hair shears standing in front of a magnified mirror so he could properly see his head.

“By God, what have you done this time?” Father tried to restrict his laughter to when I wasn’t looking at him, but he never was great at hiding it when he found something humorous.

“Well, my hair was sticking into my eyes, and I simply could not- no, would not have it. I had to trim them, and then the rest of my hair, when I sneezed and removed a large section of hair. Will you shear the rest to match?” I had a hard time not laughing myself. My father’s laugh was the most hysterical thing, high and giggly as opposed to his deep, rich speaking tone.

“Of course, Sherlock. I have just the trick. I’ll give you the haircut my mum always gave me when I was your age.” He smirked and got down on one knee. “You’ll be incredibly handsome!” With that, he chuckled and went to retrieve his clippers.

Father began edging away at the sides with a long guard on the actual blade. He had promised me that it wouldn’t be crew-cut length, but it would be rather short compared to what I was used to. He went all around the sides and the left the top as it was. He then took the original shears that I had been using and trimmed at the crown and front of my head. When he was finished, I looked like I belonged in a bad-boy magazine with motorbikes and leather jackets. I had some dark, curly fringe that sat on my forehead and swooped to the left, but the rest was shorter. I liked it.

“Thank you, father. I, I won’t do it again.” I looked at my feet rather than his face.

“No need to apologize, Sherlock. I will say, you look much better than I did with that haircut at your age. Perhaps it is that your cheekbones are so prominent. Nevertheless, your mother is the one that will be needing an apology. Run down and greet our guests.”

I escaped the toilet and padded down the staircase. Standing at the front door was Mother, Mycroft, Mr. and Mrs. Watson, and their children, John and Harriet. Mum was always unaware that Mycroft really wasn’t all that into females, so she always told him to go ‘chat up that nice girl’ whenever she got the chance. Mycroft was subject to indulging Harriet in the entire history and beauty of our home. Lucky her.

John Watson was my job. I am not complaining. Girls really aren’t my area, so John and I got on quite well. I was to take him and show him around and impress him with my experiments (he always was, of course; “Brilliant!…That’s amazing!…Incredible!…Fantastic!”). The only thing I loved more than experimenting was impressing and making John Watson smile.

However, John Watson was also my lover. I got to pleasure they older boy (by two years) as I pleased and he always reciprocated. Yes, I was thirteen, but you have to understand that at thirteen, kissing and rubbing against me was what I considered ‘pleasure’.

“Ah, John! A delight to see you.” I smiled at him and trotted down the stairs.

“Hello, Sherlock. It’s nice to be in your lovely home again, Mrs. Holmes.” He smiled brightly at my mother and then returned his gaze to me. “Shall we go off? What new science experiments do you have for me today, Sherl’?” He smiled and took my hand to run up the stairs.

I only giggle with John Watson. Let’s make that clear.

I giggled and ran with him up the stairs. We turned the corner and swept past my father and into my bedroom. This evening was going to be quite fun indeed. We launched ourselves into the room and slammed the door. John ran past me and hopped on the bed, laying on his back.

“Come here, Sherl’. Let me see what you’ve done with your head!” John raised up, whimpered, and made ‘grabby-fingers’ to will me over to him. I did indeed walk to him, and he fisted his hands in my hair. “Sherlock, oh my;” he whispered, “I don’t know whether my head likes this look better or if my cock does. Jesus fucking christ,” he panted.

He continued to run his hands through what hair I had left, and I began to moan. It felt fucking incredible. It was a sensory overload; hands in hair, breath hot on neck, the entity of John Watson in my presence.

“John,” I growled, “I need you now. Completely go limp and lie down. I’m going to have fun with you.” John did as he was told, and I climbed on top of him.

I pushed my lips against his neck, and he breathed hard into my hair. He squirmed and panted, and eventually, I moved my mouth to his. I tongued at his lower lip, and bit suggestively. I engulfed every single flavour of John’s Watson’s mouth. He always tasted of kindness and toothpaste.

“Sher-Sherlock! Fuck, I need… something! Please!” John was near hyperventilation and his voice was ethereal. “Please, just touch me.”

I did as I was told and began palming John through his jeans. He moaned explicit things into my ear; things that only made me ache more.

“Sherlock, it’s all for you…I can’t wait for the day I get to fuck you…I can’t wait until I get to feel your cock in me…you are so fucking incredible…there’s no one even close to you, love…Jesus Christ, ye-eeesssss…” John’s endless string of praise was making my cock twitch. We had done this so many times before it was natural to us now. There wasn’t anything I’d rather be doing.

“John, please, touch me, too.” I pleaded with him. I needed it.

“Yes, Sherlock, yes. I love you like this. I can’t wait to see how you’ll be begging for my cock in your arse.” John continued to moan into my mouth when he wasn’t speaking.

“One day, John. You’ll have that chance one day. I promise you nothing less.”


	2. Chapter 2

**  
  
**

I felt an absence. I opened my eyes to see John had pulled his head back and was staring at me with the biggest set of navy eyes. He was afraid, worried, panicked. What had I done? What had I said? I loved John, and I thought that this is all he wanted. He just wanted a quick fuck. Was I wrong?

“Sherlock,” John croaked, “we’re just kids. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I say that stuff because I like the way it makes you groan and move. I don’t want you to take it too seriously.”

John was trying to tell me that he didn’t want to have sex with me right now. He wanted to wait, and for whatever reason, I was completely okay with that. Perhaps because I was in love with him.

“Okay,” I said plainly.

“You, you mean,” John stuttered, “that you’re completely okay with waiting?”

“Yes, is that shocking?” I cocked my head at him. I was not angry, I was genuinely confused.

“Well, yes and no. You are quite enthusiastic when we do this, so I thought maybe you’d be offended that I’d want to wait.” John blinked his eyes slowly and a small smile peeked out from the corner of his mouth.

“Well, no, I am not offended in the slightest. To be completely serious, I had planned on us being together for a while, so there truly isn’t any rush. It’ll happen one day or another, and be that today or five years from now, I am perfectly happy with it.”

John smiled and kissed me softly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”

We sat and chuckled together. I loved him.

Let’s clear another thing up, I only chuckle with John Watson.

John pulled me down so I was laying on my side, face-to-face with him. I tucked my head underneath his chin and curled into a tight fetal position. I loved him.  We sat there for exactly one hour, seventeen minutes, and forty-two seconds before Mycroft barged in.

“Sher-, oh. Ahem, I appear to be interrupting something,” Mycroft turned his head as if he were both disgusted and shocked by the image before him. Mycroft had known about John and me for quite some time now (deductions and whatnot, I would never tell him outright).

**  
  
**

“Mycroft,” John whined, “bugger off, will you? I’m enjoying my Sherlock cuddle time.” His eyes remained closed, and he smiled and snuggled closer to me.

“I’m sorry to rain on your parade, Mister Watson, but dinner is ready, and I was sent as messenger boy to come retrieve the both of you. Come along now,” Mycroft said with a sense of annoyance.

“Yes, Mycroft, we don’t need an escort. We’ll be right down.” I hated it when Mycroft was sent to babysit.

Mycroft threw up his arms in exasperation and left the room.

John snuggled closer, and for the one time in the entirety of our relationship, I had to tell John Watson not to get closer and more in contact with me.

“John, no, we have to go down to dinner. You know as well as I do that both our mothers will be furious if we don’t.” I pushed his shoulder and lifted my face out from his chest. “Come on, John. Let’s go on down to dinner.”

“Alright, fine. Only ‘cause you told me to and not your bloody brother.” John took a deep breath in and fluttered his eyes. He rolled his shoulders and moved upwards to kiss my nose, which I have always loved.

I rolled completely off John and stood to straighten my clothes. My pressed shirt wasn’t so pressed anymore, nor were my trousers completely wrinkle-free. No matter, I had a dinner to attend and a haircut to explain to my mother.

I exited the room with John following as always. We made our way down the marble steps and into the banquet room where our round dining table held six plates; Mummy, Father, Mycroft, Myself, Mrs. Holmes, Harriet, and… where was John’s plate?

“Mother!” I cried. “Mum, why aren’t there seven dishes out?”

 

She came bursting from the kitchen door. “Sherlock, I figured you and John would prefer to go out to the shopping centre instead of sit with us boring older folks. John’s father actually got to come home early from the office, so he’s stopping by. It’s going to be incredibly boring, Sherlock. You won’t want to stay.”

Was Mum setting me on a date with John Watson?

“Yeah, okay,” said John. “Sounds like fun, Mrs. Holmes! Thank you so much. Erm, how exactly are we going to get there?”

John fucking Watson was answering and deciding that we were going to go on our date before I could have absolutely any say in it. That bastard.

“Well, you seem eager, John! You truly do like spending time with Sherlock, yes?”

Oh oblivious mother, you poor woman.

“Yes, Sherlock and I get on quite well. I feel like that isn’t too common. I guess I’m just special, then, hmm?”

Oh John, you kindhearted motherfucker.

“Oh, of course, John. Even if Sherlock hasn’t said it, you are his best friend. He cares about you more than his experi-“

Oh mum, you embarrassing, sentimental sack of love and discipline.

“YES, Mum, that is quite enough. How will we be getting to the shopping centre?”

“Sherlock Holmes! You will not speak to me in that manner, in front of John, no less! Both of you will be walking to the street and hailing a cab. I have dinner guests to entertain; I will give you some money to spend on things at the shopping centre and a little extra for the cab home as well. Now, promise me you’ll keep out of trouble? You’re getting older, and I trust you.”

“Yes, Mum, I promise. We both know that if John wasn’t going along you wouldn’t let me go, though.” I mumbled.

“You are exactly right, my love. Now, go on, go have fun in town and don’t come home before six-thirty!” Mother winked at someone behind us, but when I turned to look, they were gone.

“Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. We’ll be sure to see you then.” John grabbed my sleeve and pulled me out the front door.

We walked quite a-ways into town so we could catch a cab to get into the city. John tried to flag one down, but failed, as usual. I got our cab the first try. We jumped into the black vehicle and sped off into central London. John held my hand the whole time.

“Sherlock?” John squeezed my palm gently.

“Yes, John?” I squeezed back.

“Can I say something completely and utterly ridiculous?” John ducked his head, but kept his eyes locked on mine.

“Why is it ridiculous?” I took his chin between my fingers and turned his face up to mine.

“The concept of it isn’t, but considering us and who we are, it’s pretty crazy.” He chuckled nervously under his breath.

“Go on then.”

“I can see myself with you for all of eternity. I know that’s extremely intimidating and frightening, but I had to tell you. I know we’re still young and dumb-“

“John, I am not dumb.” I blankly stared at him.

“I know, you git. I mean, we aren’t adults and love doesn’t seem like something we would have any grasp of, but I think- no, I know, that I am in love with you. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay, but you needed to know that I love you.”

I said nothing.

“Sherlock?”

Silence.

“Sherlock, you’re scaring me. I’m sorry, I told you it was ridiculous.”

“No.” I squeezed his hand again.

“‘No’ what?”

I cocked my head at John, my face calm. “It is not ridiculous. Love is found at any age between anyone. I love you, too, John. I thought you were appalled at such feelings; this relationship was nothing but, perhaps for lack of a better term, friends with benefits.”

“No,” John shook his head rapidly, “no, never. Never, Sherlock. I love you. I wouldn’t ever not.”

I loved him.

I had come to the conclusion that I had loved John when he ran up my stairs for the first time and asked ‘Where are more experiments? I love them so much! You’re so incredible!’ I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. I loved him. I loved him. I loved him.

He loved me.

I squeezed his hand once more, and he did the same to me. The cab drove on to the heart of England, and I pictured my future with John in it. Him and me, just the two of us against the rest of the world.

Just the two of us for the rest of our lives.

**  
This seemed to be extremely unlikely.**


	3. Chapter 3

The cab had pulled to a stop on a busy pavement, and John and I stepped out. London’s air was moist and warm, making my curls twist even more. John paid the driver with the money Mummy gave us and then walked over towards me and offered his hand. I took it, and we walked into the first store, which happened to be one of John’s favorites.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to go in here if you don’t want to.” John stopped and turned to look at me with his big, navy eyes.

“It’s okay, John. I really needed to find a couple second-hand book, if they have any, for an experiment I’m doing. Besides, you love Waterstone’s bookshop.” I squeezed his palm and gave a reassuring smile.

We walked into Waterstone’s and breathed in. The crisp scent of both old and new books filled the air. John closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“More medical journals today?” I released his hand.

“Always, love. You know I can’t get enough of them.” I blushed at the endearment. We said our goodbyes and headed off in our separate directions.

After I had reached the second-hand bin, I felt a sense of loneliness. After just being with John, why did I feel so empty? I had to find him. I couldn’t stand not being with him. Hurriedly, I grabbed several random books from the bin and ran to find John in the appropriate section.

“John,” I panted, “there you are.” I smiled and grabbed the edge of the bookshelf. Waterstone’s was a huge bookstore, and I ran for approximately four minutes before I found John.

“Yeah, where I’ve been the whole time. What’s with the whole,” he gestured to my entire body, “thing? You just take a lap round town?” John giggled and pulled me over to him in a warm embrace.

“I…finished looking for books. I found the ones I needed,” I lied, “I am ready to go, now.” I sniffed and turned to walk away. Surely, John could see right through that lie. If I had truly wanted to leave, I would have just left.

“Okay, I’m finished, too. Just let me pay, yeah?” John planted a kiss on my flushed cheek as he went past me to get to the counter.

After John had his books (and the ones I slipped in and stole when no one was looking) in a massive paper bag, we headed off down the street. John insisted along the way that I try ‘normal’ things, such as bubble tea and a mint Aero bar.

“What do you mean, ‘I’ve never eaten a Toblerone?’ They’re incredible!” John’s eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief.

“You also said a couple of months ago that ‘Jaffa Cakes are the orange and chocolate pastries of God himself.’” I had an inward shiver at the horrible memory. I don’t know how John tolerates them, let alone dunk them in his tea.

“Alright,” John practically shouted, “We’re going to Tesco, and then I’m going to take you to another fancy store that you will loathe, but tolerate for _my_ sake, yeah?” He grabbed my hand and tugged me down the pavement.

We entered Tesco, and John told me to wait at the front counters. What he was buying was ‘a surprise, darling.’ I waited six minutes and twenty eight seconds before John appeared with a trolley absolutely full of brightly colored boxes and bags. He checked out and then came to the door with now four bags: three from Tesco and one from Waterstone’s.

“Right, then? Off we go.” John stepped out of the store, his strong arms not faltering in the least.

“Where, exactly, John, are we going?” I stopped and gave a frustrated look.

“Ladbroke Grove.” John smiled and stuck out his elbow for me to take hold of.

After quite a while of walking, we appeared in front of a store that I knew was going to be the death of me. We walked in and were greeted by two men holding trays that had some sort of American candy on it. John told me to go find six things in the store that I would like for him to try, and he would find six things for me to try. I sighed, but did as he asked, for _his sake_.

After fifteen minutes of shaking my head and sighing at the stupidity of Americans, I finally found three candies that I knew John would love. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Swedish Fish, and finally (a taffy type thing) Air Heads. I just had to find three more snacks. I settled on Twinkies, Jolly Ranchers, and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Really, I had no idea why I bought the hot crisps, but I thought I might get a laugh out of watching John squirm for some water.

I met John at the counter and we paid separately. I carried those bags, and John carried the others as we made our way to the nearest park. Before we settled in the park, I ran into a little tourist shop and bought two waters. “For…cleansing purposes. In case the food tastes bad.”

On three, we rolled out everything in our bags, including the one from Tesco. What poured out of John’s ‘American bag’ was something I could have never expected. Hot Tamales, Root Beer Barrels, Andes Mints, Moon Pies, Fritos Corn Chips, and Slim Jims. From the Tesco bag came Double Decker, Lion, Boost Duo, Aero Mint, Twirl, Smash, Flake, Turkish Delight, Toblerone, HobNobs, Maltesers, Violet Crumble, PomBear, Walker’s Crisps, Wotsits, and Wine Gums. I was about to vomit from the sheer sight of all the sweets and snacks.

John held up the plastic package labeled ‘Flake’ and held it out to me. “Now, I’m pretty sure you won’t become diabetic from all this, but I’m not one hundred percent on that,” John said with a wink.

I grabbed the bar and peeled it open. On the inside was what looked like ribbons of old, dry, disgusting chocolate. I took one bite and immediately spit it out.

“It’s so dry! How do you eat this?” I glared at John.

“I personally don’t. Many people like it, though.” John giggled to himself and shielded his face for I threw the remaining chocolate at him.

I handed him the Twinkies. He slowly opened the plastic, and devoured a whole Twinkie in one bite.

“Wha-,” I shouted, “what are you doing?!”

“I’ve had twinkies before,” he said. “I love them to death. Spongy cake filled with oily cream. Simply amazing.”

“And loaded with carbohydrates,” I murmured. He held out the other one to me, and I hesitantly took it.

My mouth exploded with cream. It tasted of calories and hydrogenated oil, but it was sweet and tangy. I loved it and hated it at the same time. My favorite part was the cream filling.

“It’s okay, I guess,” and I let John finish it off.

“You didn’t spit it out, so that’s a good sign.” John held up another bag labeled ‘Moon Pies’ and I snatched it from him.

It was a marshmallow cake coated in chocolate, or so the package said. I nibbled at the edge and immediately regretted not eating the whole thing in one bite.

“I guess you liked that one a lot, then?” John giggled, closed his eyes, and held out his palms to receive his next snack. I plopped the Air Heads taffy in his hands. “Oh, I’ve heard of these! They’re fruity, right?” I nodded and awaited his response.

John took a bite from the green apple flavored bar and immediately squinted his eyes.

“Sherlock, am I eating rubber?” He swallowed what portion he had in his mouth and set the candy back on the ground. “Ugh, no thanks,” John shivered.

Next, I was given Wine Gums. “John, I hate Wine Gums. You know this,” I moaned.

“Yes, and it’s sacrilege. If you don’t want them, I’ll take them.” He smiled and took the package from me.

“Is it my turn?” I snatched the Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and threw them in John’s lap.

“Ooh, crisps? I’m already intrigued.” He smiled and opened the bag.

He popped a handful into his mouth without a second thought and began crunching away.

“Mmm, Shurlock, thur really good! Whur did you find ‘ese?” John said with a mouth full of fiery death snacks. “Wait, ‘ur ‘ese hot? My ‘ongue is burning!” He swallowed and panted, looking for the water I bought. He flapped his hands about his face and pleaded with me to give him the water.

“You should see your face! Ahahaha!” I hunched over with laughter while John’s eyes watered and his tongue stuck out, all red and swollen.

“Oh, you think it’s funny?” John launched himself at the water I had in my lap. He unscrewed the cap and drank nearly half the bottle. “You twat! That hurt, Sherlock! Ow!” He said laughing. “You’ll most definitely pay for this,” he said and hurled himself towards me.

He pinned me to the ground and snogged me silly. Our tongues danced around one another and soft, subtle hums of content came from John’s mouth. John nibbled my lower lip and then pulled away.

“Alright then,” I said, breathless, “what was that about?”

“Just wait,” John said.

My tongue was on absolute fire.

  
John Watson, you twat.


End file.
